Last night I heard children scampering around beneath my window, plotting to raid the local schoolhouse. They agreed Ralphy should go for the chocolate milk, and then someone else, Joey I think, had the bright idea that they should scale the wall of my building to get my hair and use it for a wig. That’s when I knew I was dreaming. Heists don’t require other more complicated heists in order to perform them. Anyway, my hair could never pass for a child’s. No way.
See also: Coveted Hirsutism, Teachable Oneirism, Accidental Jew-fro
*published in forthcoming volume of FrankMatter, September 2013